


20 Questions (and a Happy New Year)

by Roshwen



Category: Leverage
Genre: About a lot of things, Also Christmas Cheer, Also pretzels, Because it's the season, Family Fluff, Gen, Humor, Mild Angst, Parker has a lot of questions, Specifically the Inside Job, Vaguely aligned to season 03, and the Double Blind Job
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 10:11:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17078357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roshwen/pseuds/Roshwen
Summary: ‘Do you like Archie?’ Parker asked finally, not looking up.Sophie paused. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said slowly, frowning when she saw Parker flinch. ‘But if I don’t like him, it’s not for the same reason as Nate. And the others.’Now Parker was the one to frown. ‘Huh?’Or: Parker has a lot of questions about a lot of things. And who better to ask than the world's most feared and famed grifter? Sophie doesn't mind, not really. Not if she can help Parker to get herself some pretzels, anyway.





	20 Questions (and a Happy New Year)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dazebras](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dazebras/gifts).



> Merry Christmas y'all! This one is for dazebras, who asked for: 'Familial Sophie/Parker with Sophie teaching Parker something like in the Juror no. 6 Job'. Hope you like this and let me know what you think!

‘Nate doesn’t like Archie.’

Sophie stopped, caught in the doorway from her bedroom to the rest of her apartment. After washing off a day of infiltrating a Fortune 500 company and preventing a man-made famine, she had really hoped for a night of peace, quiet, a good glass of wine and some leftover lasagna she had, ah, ‘borrowed’ from Eliot’s fridge, but apparently, no such luck.

‘He thinks Archie broke me,’ Parker continued. Her voice sounded oddly flat. It took Sophie a moment to find out where she was, because the room was pitch-black and it seemed Parker had not thought of turning on the lights. Or maybe she had but had not wanted to, which, given the day they had just had, was sort of understandable. ‘He thinks Archie…  he thinks Archie is why I am who I am and that he was bad for me and Eliot thinks so too and even Hardison doesn’t like him and he likes _everybody_ but _l_ like Archie and I don’t know why but it’s weird that nobody else does so I thought maybe you would know?’

Sophie listened as the words came tumbling out, too fast for Parker to stop them.  By now she could make out a dark shape hunched in on itself on the sofa, perched on the back like a large and oddly shaped kind of bird. Mentally bidding the lasagna and wine goodbye, she fastened the belt on her dressing gown and switched on the light. A soft yellow glow filled the room and Sophie felt something inside her give way when she finally saw the look on Parker’s face.

‘You want to talk about Archie?’ she asked, swallowing the ‘how did you get in here’ which would be a singularly rhetorical question while talking to Parker. In a way, she was touched: if Parker and feelings did not get on, then Parker and _talking_ about feelings was as likely a combination as snow in July. And the fact that she had come here, instead of brooding at the bar or hiding away in her warehouse, was… well. It was. It was _something_ , at least, even if Sophie wasn’t sure exactly what it was.

Parker nodded, lithe figure tense but her jaw set. ‘He’s important,’ was all she said and Sophie understood.

‘Okay,’ she said softly, making her way over to the chair and sitting down, leaving Parker her space on the sofa. ‘I’m listening.’

Silence stretched out for about a minute, while Parker stared at her knees. Her jaw worked and her hands knotted together so tightly, her knuckles shone white, while Sophie waited patiently.

‘Do you like Archie?’ Parker asked finally, not looking up.

Sophie paused. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said slowly, frowning when she saw Parker flinch. ‘But if I don’t like him, it’s not for the same reason as Nate. And the others.’

Now Parker was the one to frown. ‘Huh?’

Sophie smiled. ‘Parker, I know guys like him. I’ve met a hundred of these so-called ‘gentleman thieves’, and you know what they’ve all got in common?’

Parker shook her head.

‘They are all utter, self-serving bastards who don’t care one bit about anybody but themselves,’ Sophie finished. ‘That makes them kind of hard to like.’

‘But Archie _does_ care,’ Parker said, her frown turning into scowl. ‘He _does._ He has, he has a family and he… helped me and he wouldn’t do that if he didn’t care.’ She swallowed. ‘Would he?’

Sophie paused again, not really judging the moment right to give Parker a piece of her mind about people who plucked vulnerable young girls off the street to shape them into their legacy without paying any attention to their mental wellbeing. ‘I think he does,’ she said instead. ‘In his own way.’

Which was kind of true, and from the way Parker’s shoulders lost a little of their tension, it had been the right answer. ‘I still don’t think he’s a good person,’ Sophie went on because well, people who would rather risk an artificial famine than getting caught rarely are. ‘But I also don’t think he broke you.’

She didn’t say that was because she strongly suspected the damage had already been done far, _far_ before Parker had met Archie. Still, Parker’s shoulders relaxed a little further and she let out a breath. ‘But I am broken,’ she said. It wasn’t a question and Sophie made no attempts to deny or reassure, because well. ‘I _am._ Even Eliot keeps saying it. There’s something wrong with me and I _am_ not… not like other people.’

‘No, you’re not,’ Sophie said, biting back a smile. ‘But Parker, do you remember what I told you during that jury case? Almost nobody is normal and everybody is a little broken. Some more than others, that’s true, but that’s just… how things are. Just look at the team. Look at all of us and tell me we’re normal.’

Now Parker looked up. ‘You’re not broken. And Hardison. Hardison’s not either.’

Sophie almost laughed. ‘Alright, I’ll give you Hardison,’ she said, noticing the way Parker’s eyes lit up almost imperceptibly as she said it and filing that information away under ‘Oh dear’. ‘But Parker, look at me. I’m a grifter. I’ve lied and cheated and stolen my way through all of Europe and most of the rest of the world and you don’t do that if you’re not at least a little bit broken.’

Or in her case, a lot. She was not about to tell Parker just _how_ bad things had been before she started making her own way, but there was a reason she always avoided Kensington when she was in London.

‘You’re alright, Parker,’ she said when Parker remained quiet. ‘And the others… well. They might not like Archie because they see him as the one who put you into that mess today. And you know how Eliot feels about people messing with food, so it’s no wonder he’s extra grumpy right now.’

Parker sniggered. Sophie smiled too, hiding her relief behind a comforting expression. ‘And maybe they’ll come round, maybe they won’t,’ she continued. ‘But they know Archie means a lot to you. So if you ask them, I think they’ll at least make an effort to be nice to him next time.’

‘So Eliot won’t punch him and Hardison won’t give all his money to a shelter for stray cats?’ Parker asked, blue eyes fixed on Sophie.

Sophie snorted. ‘I hope not.’

\---

‘I told Hardison.’

Once again, the living room was dark and had been empty when Sophie had retreated to her bedroom to get rid of her FDA rep outfit. She sighed internally, because honestly, she should have seen this coming.

Well. Not _this_ exactly. But still.

‘You did?’ she asked, switching on the light again. This time, Parker had taken up residence on her dinner table instead of the couch. She was also looking decidedly more nervous than last time, so Sophie dragged over the chair so she could sit down while facing Parker. ‘Really?’

Parker nodded, chewing her lip and picking her nails for a moment before she looked up. ‘Yeah. But. Uhm. I’m not sure I did it right? But I think he knew what I meant anyway, so perhaps I did but... I don’t know. But I _did_ say that I had feelings for, _for_ , you know, so what do I do next?’

Sophie didn’t reply immediately. Instead she listened carefully to what Parker wasn’t saying before she asked: ‘You told Hardison you had feelings for him?’

Parker was many things, but she was not a grifter and she could not conceal the twitch of her nose that told Sophie she was on the right track. ‘Maybe?’

‘What did you tell him, Parker?’

Parker looked at her knees, avoiding Sophie’s gaze. ‘hmmhmhmpretzels?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘I told him it was pretzels!’ Parker exploded, the words rushing out in a flood. ‘I panicked and I _wanted_ to tell him but then he was right _there_ and he was _looking_ at me and then there were pretzels and I panicked.’ She scowled and blew a strand of blonde hair out of her face, daring Sophie to say something.

Sophie didn’t laugh. It took a monumental effort, but she didn’t laugh. ‘Pretzels,’ she repeated gently, noticing the way in which Parker’s hands tensed for a fraction of a second. ‘That’s... that’s not bad, Parker. I mean, you think he still knew what you meant?’

Parker nodded again and, not for the first time, Sophie was forcefully reminded of how young their cat burglar and occasional loose cannon actually was. ‘Yeah. Uhm. I think he did. Because, you know. He said.’

Sophie’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Really?’

Parker shrugged. ‘Sort of.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He said... he said they’d be right there. Whenever I wanted them.’ Parker’s voice was soft, a little unsteady even but her shoulders relaxed as she said it. For a long moment, the room was quiet while Sophie mentally calculated the value of her nearest stash of lifted artworks and the amount of orange soda and gummi frogs it would buy because _bless_ that boy. So many guys Sophie knew or had known would have leapt on to Parkers admission. They would have taken advantage of her vulnerability and tried to persuade her into something she was nowhere near ready for and to be honest, Sophie herself might have done exactly that when she had told Parker to tell Hardison how she felt.

Not Alec Hardison. Sophie had not had any doubts at all whether Hardison would be right for Parker: she was nothing if not a good judge of character and chemistry, even if she tended to romanticize a little bit. But even if she had, those doubts went right out of the window this very moment.

_Bless_ that boy.

‘And then he looked at me and I looked back and I was still panicking because I thought he would want to, to touch me or something but then he didn’t and then he just smiled and went away,’ Parker continued, oblivious to the chorus of harps and angels that was starting up in Sophie’s head. ‘So that was good, but now I don’t know what to do so you have to tell me.’

She snapped her mouth shut and hunched back in on herself, apparently feeling like she had said way too much already. But she couldn’t conceal the way her face softened as she talked, for a fraction of a second. Something that would have been missed by anyone but the greatest grifter this side of the Atlantic.

‘That’s... that’s great, Parker,’ Sophie said, not bothering to conceal her own bright smile. ‘That’s really great, and I'm happy for you.’

Parker frowned. ‘But... nothing’s happened yet. That's what I'm telling you, because I did what you said and now nothing’s happened and...’

‘I know,’ Sophie said. ‘I know, but Parker, did you... _want_ anything to happen? Right now?’

Parker shook her head.

‘Alright then. Here's what you need to do now. It’s very simple.’

Parker perked up and she leaned forward, suddenly all ears.

‘You need to do as he said,’ Sophie said, trying again not to laugh as Parker’s face fell. ‘Huh?’

Once again, Sophie admired Hardison for his patience. ‘Parker, he told you, didn’t he? He’d be right there, whenever you wanted him. So, all you have to do now is wait until you _do_ want him, until you’re absolutely sure that that’s what you want, and then you tell him. And I don’t think you have to do anything in the meantime, because I don’t think Hardison is the type to run off and try to look for... _pretzels_ somewhere else. Do you?’

Sophie watched Parker mull this over for a couple of long drawn-out seconds before she stood up and risked a pat on her shoulder. ‘Just take your time, Parker. That's all you have to do.’

No response. But when she came back from the kitchen after putting on the kettle, the window was wide open and the room was empty.

\---

Once is a coincidence. Twice less so. Three times is a pattern.

\---

‘Do you think I should steal Eliot a guitar? He doesn’t have one, I asked and he said he didn’t'.’

‘What did he look like when you asked him?’

‘Grumpy. But not like normal grumpy but like ‘I don’t want to talk about this’ grumpy... oh.’

‘Maybe hold off on that guitar then. Just for now.’

\---

‘Do you think Jodie will be OK? Also, should I say sorry to Eliot for accidentally almost getting him killed?’

‘Yes. And yes. Definitely. Yes. You should definitely do that.’

\---

‘Can you teach me how to do an accent?’

‘Parker, you just did. You went through a whole con as a Southern Bubbly Becky and you did really well!’

‘Did I? Huh.’

‘... you didn’t realize you were doing an accent?’

‘No. I was just talking like Miss Pierce... Oh!’

‘There you are, then. I’m not really sure you need my help, Parker.’

\---

‘OK, perhaps you do need my help because I do _not_ sound like that. Listen to me. Parker? Parker, put that dagger away and listen to me. Say: biscuits.’

‘Bizz-cuts.’

‘Biscuits.’

‘Bish-kwuts.’

‘Parker...’

‘What!’

\---

And truth be told? Sophie did not even mind. After the first two times, she even found she was beginning to look forward to entering her empty apartment, hitting the shower to wash of the con of the day and then return to the living room to see Parker perched on her furniture of choice for the evening and firing off her question the moment Sophie appeared.

She even turned the light on after the fourth time herself. Which meant something, even though Sophie wasn’t sure what it was.

The conversations were not always as deep. Sometimes the questions Parker had were tough (‘If we make a company go down and a hundred people lose their jobs just to help one person, are we really doing a good thing?’ Which was not really a thing Sophie wanted to think about after spending an hour with an overblown CEO making unwanted advances at her just so Hardison could hack his merry way into the company’s servers). Some were a little easier (‘No, but seriously. Are you a princess?’). And some were just… Parker (‘Who do you think would last longer: Hardison without tech thingies or Eliot without anybody to punch?’).

Sophie wasn’t sure about the last one, but her money was on Eliot. If only because she had spent the majority of _that_ day sitting in Lucille and watching Hardison coo at his computers like they were his children.

But deep or not, she did enjoy these conversations with Parker, if only for the fact that she had absolutely nothing better to fill her empty evenings with. And she strongly suspected that neither did Parker, which was… well, she knew Parker did not have anybody she remotely considered ‘friends’ outside of their little team (except for Jury Case Peggy, of course), but it still was a little sad.

Although, at one point, she had to ask. And the question seemed so simple, but had Parker dumbfounded for a good minute before she shrugged and gave an answer that Sophie would not forget for a very long time.

‘Parker, can I ask you something?’

‘Sure.’

‘Why do you come here?’

Parker furrowed her brow. ‘Because you know things? And I want to know things, so I thought, you know, that could work out.’

‘No,’ Sophie said, giving Parker a Serious look. ‘I mean. Why do you come _here?_ Because all the things I know, I bet Nate and Eliot and Hardison know them too. Why don’t you ask them?’

For a minute, Sophie thought she would not get an answer. Parker just stared at her, blue eyes narrow as if she was trying to decide if this was a trick question or if Sophie really did not understand. Eventually, just before Sophie decided to ignore that and change tack, Parker said: ‘Because you’re safe.’

Sophie blinked. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘You’re safe,’ Parker said. She had taken up residence on Sophie’s window sill, a giant shape outlined against the night skyline of Boston. ‘I mean, not that I’m _afraid_ of the others, if I was afraid of them I wouldn’t be staying with them. And I definitely wouldn’t want… pretzels with someone I was afraid of. But they’re not. I don’t know.’ She waved her hands, searching for the right word. ‘Safe. Easy. Comfortable? They’re not really comfortable to talk to, not about, you know. Things being good or bad or feelings or things that other people would find sad. Like Archie and my warehouse. I don’t mind telling you about my warehouse but Eliot would try and install a kitchen when I’m not looking and Hardison’s eyes go all big and sad when I talk about it and Nate still doesn’t like Archie. So. You know. That’s why.’

_Safe,_ Sophie thought, trying to swallow against the constriction in her throat as the window opened and Parker disappeared soundlessly into the night. _Well. That’s new._

\---

One thing that was also new? The enormous Christmas hamper that appeared on her dinner table out of nowhere while she was in the shower, getting rid of the smell of holly and pine needles. She liked Christmas well enough, but smelling like a tree honestly went a bit too far.

When she came back out of the bathroom, she half expected to see Parker there. She wasn’t, which was a little bit disappointing, but there was a box the size of a small pony sitting on the table. Which was also unexpected, and even though after her first little mishap with Cha0s, she was still wary of gifts turning up unexpectedly, something told her this would not blow up in her face.

It even said so on the card that was attached to the box: _Don’t worry, this is not a bomb._

Which was comforting, in an odd and very specific kind of way. Sophie took the card off the box and folded it open, dragging back a chair so she could sit down to read it.

_I didn’t really know what you would like because if you like something, you would steal it, just like me. But I still hope you do like this. And thank you for helping me._

_PS, the cookies are Eliot’s. He agreed to make them as long as I put that on the card. Don’t know why. He also looked at me funny when I asked him to make cookies so I could them put in a Christmas present for you, do you know why would do that?_

Yes, Sophie thought she knew why Eliot would give Parker a long, inscrutable look when she asked him something like that. In fact, she had to sit very still for a moment, breathing in and out at the thought of Parker, sweet, selfish, socially oblivious Parker thinking of and then making a present for somebody else, just for the simple sake of a couple of conversations.

She wiped at her eyes, putting the card down and stood up to go hunt for a pair of scissors to open up the box.

When she had cut through the tape and saw what was inside, she had to sit down very quickly again. Putting her head in her hands, she sat quietly for a few minutes, barely breathing and shoulders shaking with both laughter and something else.

Because of course Parker would not go for an ordinary Christmas hamper, filled with wine and expensive chocolate.

Of course Parker would go for something shinier. Like the (suspiciously sharp-edged) hairpin with the priceless sapphire that was sparkling blue and silver in the low light, its casing nestled snugly inside the packing peanuts right next to a Tupperware box filled with golden circle shapes (and Sophie already had an inkling which of those two she was going to appreciate more. She already had some sapphire jewelry somewhere in the UK. Or Germany. Europe, anyway). There was also a small plastic bag filled with something that looked like colored pebbles, but which turned out to be chocolates according to their label. Sophie could only hope that was not one of Parker’s more elaborate practical jokes, but she didn’t think it would be. Then there was a box of tea, _proper_ British tea that Sophie would honestly not hesitate to commit murder for on this side of the pond. Parker must have seen that she was running out, and made a note of it. Which was so thoughtful and unlike Parker that Sophie finally started thinking again.

And then she thought for a little longer.

And then she went hunting for her phone to very quickly send a little text to Nate: _About that Christmas hamper. Your idea?_

Not ten seconds later, her phone buzzed. ‘No,’ Nate said, not even bothering with a greeting. ‘ _Not_ my idea. All Parker’s. She, ah, she just asked all of us to bring her a gift for you to put in, but she’s the one that cooked it up.’

A pack of tissues in the box would have come in very handy by now, Sophie mused. ‘So the tea at least. That was you,’ she said, voice steady only by sheer force of will.

‘Wouldn’t want you to go without,’ Nate said and Sophie could hear his smile. ‘And those rock thingies are Hardison’s. And yes, they _are_ edible. Parker was very adamant about that. She takes chocolate very seriously, you know.’

Yes, Sophie knew.

‘Thank you,’ she said, and hung up before Nate could get another crack at her real name. She wasn’t really in the mood for that.

Instead she turned back to the box. Taking out the sapphire necklace, the box of cookies and the tea and chocolate rocks with equal reverence and setting them down on the table, she nearly missed the fifth and smallest item, buried as it was under a layer of packing peanuts.

It was nothing much. Just a little plastic baggie, with a pink post it note on top. Sophie carefully dug it out, and then grinned so wide that her cheeks almost split with it.

_I think I’ll have some of these soon,_ the note read.

Still smiling, Sophie put the little baggie of pretzels down with the rest of her presents. And they said Christmas miracles did not exist anymore.

\---

(Also, she had been right about those cookies. She _was_ going to hunt Eliot down for that recipe and he _was_ going to give it to her. Or her name was not Sophie Devereaux.)

(Yes, well. You know what she meant.)


End file.
